Must be time of month hormones all over the shit
Cause i ain't know for who or what the fuck to get
Call me whatever joe
Return of the king of flow
Beat of the drum soon the rhythm of the dead.
I say i put it so deep now she a cone head
Fall, bitch, give me everything, i'm taking all this
They got the brain capacity of 2 month old fetuses
The name of the game is
So i gotta spit to this
If the parade was scheduled for third month.
Or closed casket for our troubles
I do self evaluate, yeah, i know i've got some problems
But i'm broke as fuck and i don't get paid 'til the first of next month
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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